The rain had stopped by the time Nia climbed back up the ravine, but the air still hung heavy with it—thick, metallic, tasting of wet iron and salt from the lagoon. Her boots squelched in the mud as she reached the game trail. The amulet rested against her sternum like a second heartbeat, warm even through the soaked fabric of her shirt. She touched it once, reflexively, half expecting another flare of blue light or another voice in her skull. Nothing came. Just iron, quiet now, as though it had said what it needed to say and was waiting for her to catch up.
